Young Benjamin Davidson
by Commander Cody CC-2224
Summary: The story of Benjamin Davidson and how he became the beloved lad that we know today in the "Felicity: An American Girl" Series.
1. Chapter 1

**_Young Benjamin Davidson_**

**Written By:_ Commander Cody CC-2224_**

CHAPTER 1

The streets of Yorktown, Virginia, were serene as ever. It was a cold, dark October night in 1759. Across Main Street, a night-watcher clad all in black carrying a lantern in his right hand and a pistol in the other ambled steadily past the fairly tidy clapboard houses across the cobblestone street.

At the edge of Main Street was a plain-looking but respectable two-gabled, two-storied clapboard house. From downstairs shrill cries could be heard across the room. This was the cry of a woman in labor who was about to give birth to her child.

The main bedroom downstairs was hectic as ever and noisy as well. In the middle of the bed was a twenty-three-year-old woman screaming and crying. Her belly was plump as ever, and her entire body, including her black-brown hair was bathed in sweat that could nearly be reflected by candlelight. Tears of pain streaked across her face as she struggled and cried out loudly several times.

Near the left bedside was a young midwife trying her utmost to calm the struggling woman. The screams of agony reverberated across the clapboard room and echoed through the dark house…

* * *

The Next Day…

The woman's labors had lasted into the night and still continued on through the sunlit morning. After nearly several exhausting, agonizing minutes, the cries of a human baby could now be heard.

The nearly exhausted midwife rushed to the bedroom entrance in excitement and opened the door hastily, awaking a young individual in his mid-20s out of his wits.

"Mr. Davidson! Mr. Davidson!" exclaimed the midwife excitedly. "Come quick! Come quick! The baby is born! Come! Come!"

This was Mr. Matthew Davidson, a twenty-seven-year-old mercantile owner who operated a general store in the edgy middle of Yorktown's Main Street. He was dressed in his usual business clothes, with his dark green waistcoat, his white shirt, black breeches, plain white stockings, and black buckled shoes. His chocolate-brown hair, with a tinge of light tone to it, was pulled into a ponytail by a white ribbon. A plain white neckerchief was wrapped around his neck as part of his everyday dress. For the past several hours Mr. Davidson was fraught with relentless anxiety over the condition of his beloved wife, as he restlessly paced the front parlor with agitated gait. The very thought of losing his wife, or child, or possibly both, was something he could never fully bear in the back of his mind.

But when midwife rushed forward with the news of a successful birth, Mr. Davidson was very much overjoyed from his heart. Springing up from his mahogany Windsor chair with enthusiasm, he immediately followed the midwife into the bedroom, taking great strides.

What he now witnessed greatly astounded him, and joy wrapped across his body. His lovely brunette wife, still clad in a nightgown and nightcap, was tenderly holding a recently cleaned-up baby in her loving arms. This was Mrs. Rebecca Davidson, and she had just given birth to an infant son.

"'Tis a boy, Matthew," she said a little weakly, while beaming at her fairly young husband. "'Tis your son…"

Mr. Davidson was so overjoyed while gazing at his infant son that he almost couldn't find the appropriate words. "A-Aye, 'tis so, Becky," he said, struggling to overcome his hesitation, as he peered closer to survey and catch a glimpse of his red little face, and the chocolate brown eyes that almost resembled that of his father's. The baby looked very asleep. "'Tis a boy, indeed," he said quietly with pleasure.

Mrs. Davidson gazed fondly at her infant son and beamed gratefully. The midwife stood beside the left bedside, standing straight in an almost relaxed and relieved position, with her hands below the skirt of her dress and clasped together. "Any ideas…on what to call…our baby boy?"

Mr. Davidson thought for a brief moment. "I know just the one," he said quite excitedly, breathing rapidly in excitement, unable to reserve himself. "We'll call him Benjamin. How 'bout that?"

Mrs. Davidson mused a little. "Benjamin Matthew Davidson," she said quietly, as though her voice was slightly hoarse. She breathed a happy sigh. "I like it. Rolls off the tongue…"

"I think it does," agreed Mr. Davidson.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 2

At two years of age, little Benjamin Davidson started romping around the house on all fours, much to the delight of Mrs. Davidson, and perhaps much to the chagrin of the black house servant. Mrs. Davidson was busying herself on a sampler while watching her toddler tumble himself with impunity while wearing around his body a cushioning ring called a "pudding".

Though occasionally, Mrs. Davidson would at times get anxious over the toddler's rambunctious activities, both inside the house and outside. Little Ben could was pretty much allowed to romp around the garden, and a bit of the front yard, but not beyond the yard entrance for safety reasons.

"Careful, Benster," she would often call out to him.

Sometimes Mrs. Davidson would get upset whenever Ben ran across the garden plants that she would end up paddling him as a result and send him to his room for nearly a portion of the day.

The rest of his toddler years were pretty uneventful, even during the Seven Years War, which was taking place in most of the northern part of the Colonies. Sometimes Mr. Davidson would let his son watch the military drills of the Virginia militia, as well as the some of the theater shows. The Davidsons would at times participate in some of the local fairs and country dances that occasionally took place on the greens of Yorktown during the Publick Times.

* * *

Two years later, another child was welcomed into the Davidson family. It was Ben's younger sibling sister, Hannah, brought into the world while Ben was four years old. Even if his sibling wasn't a brother, he still reveled in having a sister for a regular playmate. Little Hannah was almost as rambunctious as Ben himself. They played together and would often times tease each other to the point where Mrs. Davidson would threaten to paddle them if their misbehavior got on her nerves. Almost every night she would read to the youngsters the classic stories of _Gulliver's Travels_ and _Robinson Crusoe_. Ben would often be at times hotheaded and headstrong, and his sister could be a little determined as well.

It was during that same year of the spring of 1762 when Mr. Davidson volunteered to join the Virginia militia. Mrs. Davidson disapproved, saying to the effect that unless he was called to serve he should not have done it. She eventually relented when her husband make eloquent speech after speech about joining the militia as a duty to defend the Colonies from encroachment of the Indians lurking across the edges of Virginia's firm boundaries, as well as from the French. This, for the most part, was pretty reasonable, given a looming possibility that the Indians and the French were threatening to take over Virginia. Though most of the battles during the French and Indian war took place up north, the militia was called upon to sweep out any enemies encroaching across Virginia's western borders.

And so after a rather tearful good-bye from his wife, Mr. Davidson, after strapping on his Brown Bess musket and powder horn across his shoulders, as well as his bayonet, long knife, ammunition pouch, and "backpack", he headed off to join his compatriots at the outskirts of the town.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 3

Roanoke, Virginia

Several Miles west of Yorktown, near the outskirts of the borders

Several months later… July, 1762 A.D.

The 4th detachment of Virginia militiamen was stationed at a fenced area inside the town of Roanoke. The long Virginia summer was pretty hot. The grass was nearly half a foot long and the surroundings were pretty woody, as the scent of pine wafted through the air. Nearby a detachment of uniformed British regulars patrolled the southern part of the town as well.

Suddenly there came the blood-curdling sound of ear-piercing cries and war whoops. The hearts of the militiamen stopped in their tracks. It was the Cherokee Indians, and they were hell-bent on destroying the town.

The men were immediately alerted. "Indians incoming!" shouted the sentry. The word was immediately passed among the regulars and militiamen.

"Indians!" growled a frontiersman with a scraggly black beard. "Damn them!"

"Thank God it's Indians," said a militiaman. "At least it ain't them bloody Frogs. Them Frogs are well trained in them arts of war." The term "Frog" was a derogatory term to describe a Frenchman.

The bald red men with slick tufts of hair emerged from the edge of the forest, shouting their war whoops and battle cries, and brandishing tomahawks, knives, and guns. At the immediate order of their commanding officer, the militiamen immediately lined up at a long interlocked log fence and readied their arms. Everything happened in split seconds.

"Take aim!" shouted the commander.

"Take aim!" the militiamen shouted in unison. Their guns loaded, they immediately pointed their guns at the advancing red men, cocking back the flintlocks and poising their fingers at the trigger ready to fire at a moment's notice. Everything happened in seconds.

"Fire!"

The guns blazed their firepower like fury from hell. Thick smoke with a gunpowdery tang puffed out of the barrels, which reflected in the sunlight. Red men in their disorganized scattering were picked off by the musket bullets like flies. Some fell backward, others fell forward, and some clutched to some area in their body where the bullet impacted them.

"Next line, take aim!" ordered the commander. The next line cocked back the flintlocks and aimed at the crowd. Right in the middle of the line was Mr. Davidson, his musket aimed to kill any of the red men that dared to molest the English town. His flat black tricorn cap shaded his face a little from the sun, and his entire body was covered with sweat which resulted from his exposure to the hot sun as well as his nervousness.

"Fire!"

The next line blazed their guns. In the midst of the line, Mr. Davidson pulled back the trigger hard and cold. His shot hit one Cherokee, who immediately was pushed back to the ground and lying dead.

"Fix bayonets!" shouted the commander. The militiamen immediately got to plugging their bayonets onto their guns as the British regulars poured musket fire after musket fire at the oncoming onslaught of Indians.

Then in seconds the frenzied Cherokees clashed into the militia line. Now it was a melee, as the Cherokees started cutting men up like butchers with their tomahawks, militiamen stabbed with the bayonet attached to his gun at several Indians, as well as making use of their pocket knives and butcher knives. The skirmish at the fence area was a reeking, bloody mess and nearly lasted for six minutes, as there didn't seem to be enough reinforcements of their compatriots.

The line was overrun by the Indian onslaught. In about a few seconds he ranks of the militiamen gradually thinned.

"Fall back!" shouted the commander. With guns still aimed, bayonet still plugged, every militiaman fired and stabbed at every mad Indian before falling back to the town.

* * *

The tiny settlement of Roanoke was now overrun by the Cherokees. It was at this point that British commander Lord John Howard ordered a general evacuation of the settlement. The entire situation was mad as hell; civilians were now running for their lives, trying to escape the onslaught by evacuating the town.

The captain of the 4th Detachment, Michael Howell, and his militiamen were assigned to lend assistance to the British regulars in evacuating the civilians. However, his subordinate commanding officer, Joseph Freeman, volunteered to hold off the Cherokee onslaught in order to buy the men and the evacuees some precious time.

Freeman called for volunteers. However, volunteering to hold off the Cherokee onslaught meant imminent death. Those who volunteered would be mercilessly slaughtered by the Indians as a result.

Yet twelve militiamen stepped in. But one more had yet to come. "I need one more volunteer," said Freeman.

Mr. Davidson had suddenly felt a calling to do his country's duty. He gazed at the little portrait of his beautiful wife. He had a brief conflict whether his obligation was to his family or to his country, as well as the obligation to save some lives of his fellow Virginian colonists.

He made his decision. He stepped up to the ranks of the twelve volunteers.

If he knew that he was going to die, Mr. Davidson decided to ask Capt. Howell for a favor. Because Howell was sort of a close friend to Mr. Davidson, the latter requested the former to deliver a letter to his family back in Yorktown if he and his man managed to make their escape. Howell agreed as he tucked the wrapped letter in the pocket of his waistcoat, and signaled his men to head off with him.

Freeman and his brave militiamen volunteers headed to the east part of the settlement in an open field to fight off the assaulting Cherokees head-on. They fired a musket volley, and with their bayonets attached at barrel's end, fought the Indians in brutal hand-to-hand combat.

Mr., Davidson bravely performed his act of valor. He stood his ground, his boots firmly planted on the grass. Armed with his empty Brown Bess with his bayonet attached, his hatched, and knife, he stabbed chopped and slashed if necessary until the onslaught itself forced him to retire in a terrible way. Two deadly Indian arrows, which zipped through the air like tiny darts and stuck fast into the center of his body, made an initial assault against him. Then seconds later a Cherokee's axe was embedded into his chest as Mr. Davidson kept fighting like a big damn hero.

When his strength slowly drifted and ebbed, he held his bloodied axe and knife firmly in his sweaty grip. His musket was on the ground, almost useless to him. Covered up in the blood of red men, as well as his own, from head to toe, his big brown eyes gazed at the Virginian field he had fought to defend with all his strength. In his heart he felt relieved that he was giving others a chance for the men, as well as the sparse population of civilians living in the town, to escape the terrible onslaught of the red men. After slowly shutting his eyes he fell forward to the ground from complete exhaustion and blood loss as a whizzing Indian arrow impacted his chest. His now lifeless body lay in the middle of the field, trampled over almost ignominiously by the red men, a fate which an unnoticed hero like Mr. Davidson should not have deserved.

* * *

The news of Mr. Davidson's death in battle reached back home in Yorktown. Mrs. Davidson quietly hoped and prayed for her beloved husband's safe return as she busied herself with the various domestic chores around the house in her everyday work outfit.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. _Oh, no_, thought Mrs. Davidson. She feared that a courier would bring home the news of her husband's possible death. In her heart she desperately wished it was somebody else.

"Ben! Hannah! Go to your room!" she whispered desperately.

"Why?" piped up Ben.

"No questions! Do as I say!" Immediately as if in fright both Ben and his sister Hannah headed upstairs to their rooms.

Cautiously Mrs. Davidson opened the door. It wasn't somebody else, as she was hoping it to be. It was indeed a rustically-dressed Capt. Howell of the 4th Militia Detachment. His young face looked pretty somber.

"Is this the house of Mr. Matthew Davidson?" he asked as courteously as he could.

"Aye, it is," replied Mrs. Davidson disconsolately, as she struggled internally to keep her grace and poise. She had a terrible feeling that it was about the death of her husband, but she wanted to stave off that looming possibility for at least a few precious seconds. "What brings you here?" she asked in a worried sort of way.

"'Tis about your husband, ma'am," he said calmly. He handed her a thick yellowish-white envelope, which was almost heavy in weight to her. The weight of the envelope itself caused a feeling of dread over her that she couldn't help knowing whether her husband actually died or not. She immediately came to the point.

"He died, then, didn't he," she blurted out quietly.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." He was silent for a moment before he spoke again. Mrs. Davidson's reaction to such an affirmative response was one of shock, as well as feeling as though she might cry. "He died in battle, ma'am, at Roanoke, when the Cherokee Indians overran the town. He volunteered along with twelve men to hold off the onslaught in order to allow his fellow men and some civilians to escape the terrible onslaught. All thirteen...were massacred...I'm afraid." He gulped a bit. "Please accept my sincerest condolences. I knew Matthew Davidson as a close friend."

"You did?" asked Mrs. Davidson sympathetically.

Capt. Howell nodded somberly. "Aye, ma'am." He tipped his dark brown tricorn hat and left without another word, leaving Mrs. Davidson standing at the doorway, tenderly holding the envelope.

Slowly Mrs. Davidson shut the door and sat back on a seat near the sunlit window of the parlor room. Tenderly she opened the envelope and spilled whatever contents there were onto her lap. Aside from a well-worn letter, there was also the engagement and wedding rings as well, which were all that was left from Mr. Davidson. Placing the rings beside her left side, she gently unfolded the paper and read the following letter, which was dated the 21st of June:

_My dearest Becky,_

_'Tis been several months since I quitted my mercantile shop to carry out my country's duty. For the most part, the 4th detachment has been patrolling and scouting the western part of Virginia for possible encroachment made by the Indians and the French. We're still at war, you know, and such rumors may end up being true. If I die, I intend to die knowing you and the children are kept safe from the enemies we're forced to fight._

_I love you very much, dearest Becky. Give my love to our two romping little toddlers as well; they are what I intend to look forward to seeing if the militia commander allows us an occasional day's leave, if it ever comes. All of you are the very reason I do my part in the fight to keep Virginia safe and free from the damn Cherokees, as well as from a foreign power bent on taking over us._

_Truly I miss you all so much._

_Your much-beloved husband,_

_Matthew._

_P.S.: If I die, tell the children I fought bravely to keep the little ones safe from the enemies of their everyday nightmares._

As Mrs. Davidson read every word of the letter, hot tears streaked down her face and dropped onto the paper. It was an undeniable fact, from what the courier told her; her husband had died. Sniffling tearfully, she tenderly folded the letter back and put it aside with the rest of the contents that came in the envelope. Then she buried her face in her apron and wept uncontrollably.

* * *

After several minutes later, she got up from the sofa and proceeded to share the terrible news to her children. She tiptoed upstairs and into the children's bedroom, where she found Ben and Hannah playing with cards.

"Children," she said, her voice trembling from crying. The two little mites looked up from their play. "I…I have terrible news to share with you. Your…" She struggled to speak the news. "Your father has died."

The reaction of both Ben and Hannah was fright. "How?" asked Ben. Little Hannah, being two years old, was speechless.

Mrs. Davidson took her seat on Ben's bed. "'Tis said he died in battle while volunteering to fight off the Indians to give his detachment, as well as the civilians of the settlement a chance to escape the terrible onslaught," she replied tearfully. "He told me…to tell you two…that he fought most bravely…"

Both Ben and Hannah stood beside their mother, and Mrs. Davidson proceeded to gather her children under her encompassing wing as each of them sat on her lap. Hannah couldn't seem to understand the predicament at hand, but the sad and tearful look in her mother's eyes was enough to convey a sense of seriousness in her face. Ben, being four years old, kind of understood the predicament a little.

"Why did Father have to do this?" he asked forlornly.

"Because he felt a higher calling in the line of duty," replied Mrs. Davidson. "'Twould not have been an easy choice for anyone to make, not even you, Ben." She looked at her children. "You all should be proud of your father," she said, despite herself. "He…he gave his life so that whatever was left to defend the settlement could survive. As would the rest of Virginia."

Ben felt sad, and felt as though he could cry. "I still wish he didn't have to do this," he said, as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Nor I," whispered Mrs. Davidson. "But…it can't be helped…" She didn't know what else to say, as she embraced both her children lovingly and each shared the load of a loved one's death.

* * *

That same month, the Davidsons were forced to close the general store to pay off some debts that Mr. Davidson ended up leaving as a result of his death. But whatever the discouraging circumstances, Mrs. Davidson was determined not to give up in order to ensure that her children had the basic necessities. After taking some menial jobs, with the a little help from Ben, she managed to open a milliner's business in her house.

All of this would probably not have happened if they had relatives who were willing to help them in their time of need. The Davidsons did have relatives comprising of two uncles and a cousin; all of which were on the paternal side. Another uncle was on the maternal side. However, the ones on the paternal sides, who both resided in New York, met an unfortunate fate. Ben's paternal uncle was killed in action during the Battle of Signal Hill off in Newfoundland. The cousin, however, had gone missing in action and his whereabouts unknown. Later it was confirmed that he was found dead in a ravine in a mountainous region in Quebec, while evading the French and Indian forces.

The maternal uncle, who went by the name Mr. Henry Singleton, who was Mrs. Davidson's uncle, was fairly wealthy. Even if he resided in New York, he could have gave monetary assistance to the Davidsons, which he was pretty willing to do, on certain set conditions. However, Mr. Singleton died before he could sign his will, and his wealth was transferred to another distant relative, who for some unknown reason wanted nothing to do with them. So poor Mrs. Davidson had to get along with whatever was available.

"'Twas the best I could do at this time," Mrs. Davidson said to her son, as she was working on a silk dress for a gentleman's wife. "We won't starve; never fear." Little Hannah was playing with her favorite homely doll while Ben on occasion would play with her and tease her. Sometimes Ben helped a little. But for the most part he probably wasn't cut out for that kind of work. The work of a milliner was the work of a woman at that time. But of course such affairs would not have to be that worrisome for Ben at this point. Maybe in the next several years he would decide his own destiny.

* * *

The part where Matthew Davidson dies in battle was largely inspired by the beginning part of the _Star Trek 2009_ movie, where James T. Kirk's father, George Samuel Kirk, gives up his life in order to let the crew of the _U.S.S. Kelvin_ escape from the Romulan Nero's wrath.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 4

Six Years Later…

April, 1769 A.D.

Ten-year-old Benjamin Davidson was riding fine, well-built steed across the greenery of Virginia, not several miles from Yorktown. The horse was not his; rather, it belonged to a neighbor next door, and the neighbor consented to let him borrow it, so long as he was not reckless with it.

His exhilaration was taken a little too far when he raced the horse through the woods. Almost recklessly he sped past tree trunks until he reached the main dirt road. Then he sped into a grassy clearing of a plantation.

Unbeknownst to him a sentry at the plantation spotted him and alerted the law enforcement. By the time Ben was making his speedy heading back to Yorktown, a couple of uniformed British dragoons dressed in scarlet red were high on his heel. They shouted at him multiple times, but Ben didn't heed them, as he was quite desperate to evade them off their track.

"You, boy!" shouted one of the horsemen. "Stop your horse at once!"

Ben ignored them and pushed the stallion as hard as he could at its maximum speed.

"Halt, or we will be forced to shoot your horse!" the horseman shouted.

Ben steered speedily through the forest until he came to the grassy clearing near the outskirts of his hometown.

"You've heard the warning!" shouted the dragoon. "Prepare to be fired upon!" Drawing their flintlock pistols, they fired on the horse. One bullet missed, but the other managed to impact on the stallion's right hind leg, which temporarily disabled the horse. The stallion, as a result, let out a wild, loud "neeeigh" as it bent its front legs and kicked off Ben sideways, leaving him sprawling on the grassy lawn. In a fit of heart-thumping hoof beats the horse struggled to get up.

Ben was all flustered as he struggled to get up as well. The dragoons stopped in their tracks and promptly dismounted their horses. Their very form was intimidating, even for his age.

"What is your name, boy?" one of the dragoons inquired rather pompously in his British lilt.

"M-My name is Benjamin Davidson, _sir_," he replied through a mixture of anger and fear.

"You will come with us," demanded the dragoon. Both men hauled Ben to one of the horses and the dragoon mounted his horse. After the other dragoon tied the disabled horse behind and mounted his horse as well, the two set off steadily to Yorktown.

"Where are we going, sir?" asked Ben a little timidly.

"To Yorktown. Someone has charged you of trespassing the property of Middling Plantation and you'll need to answer for what you did."

"Why?" asked Ben anxiously, his heart beating fast and his nerves twitching a little. "I didn't know that was property of such a plantation!"

The group continued on until they reached Yorktown.

"Where do you live?" inquired the dragoon.

"W-why should I tell you?" challenged Ben.

"If you don't tell us, we'll lock you in the public gaol."

Ben was pretty cross. "Follow my directions, then," he said finally.

The dragoons trotted through Main Street until they reached Ben's house. The galloping was pretty much enough to bring Mrs. Davidson and little Hannah outside the front porch.

"What's going on?" she inquired rather anxiously. Then she took notice of her son. "Ben? What happened?"

The lead dragoon horseman spoke up. "We were alerted to a trespasser running around at whim on a Middling Plantation," he said.

Mrs. Davidson was very aghast. "Benjamin Davidson! What's got into you?"

The Davidsons' next door neighbor came out of his house, too. "What's got into my fine horse as well?" he barked, as he noticed the steed's limping condition. He, too, took notice of Ben. "You…you are responsible for this!" he yelled.

"I am not!" retorted Ben. "Those horsemen shot it!"

"Silence, young man!" scolded the horseman.

"Tis true," quipped Ben rather tactlessly.

Mrs. Merriman put little six-year-old Hannah on the porch steps and began to make her plea. "Sirs," she began a little timidly for a young mother her age. "My Ben is only ten years old. He probably didn't know that he was traveling across Middling Plantation."

"Didn't know, indeed," sneered the officer. "Humph. I'll have him know what the inside of a gaol is like so he doesn't do that again."

Mrs. Davidson would not give up. "Sirs, I beg of you," she continued. "Ben…is just a troubled lad. He has lost his father since he was only four years old, and has been without any mentor of his gender for the past five years."

"Then get one!" sneered the dragoon.

The woman's eyes were blazing with seething anger. _How dare these men treat us when we are beset with troubles, as if we can afford everything!_ she seethed. She approached the dragoon with a cross look in her face. "I…have been struggling to keep our business running to make ends meet, and _you_,,,_you_…of all people, are implying that I can hire a tutor as if we've got the luxury to?" She glared at him. "You will not take my boy to the authorities on account of that. If that plantation owner has a complaint, _I_ will be the one to personally apologize to him on his behalf." She lowered her voice to a serious one. "You have to right to take such matters into your own hands."

"Manners, woman," scolded the other dragoon. "Such talk will get you hanged on the gallows, for you dare to set limits on what the king's horsemen can and cannot do."

"Then hang me if you will," she said defiantly, while at the same time trembling in fright.

Such a statement was enough to alert Hannah. "No, Mother, don't!" she squeaked in fright as she instinctively ran to Mrs. Davidson and desperately clung to the skirts of her work gown. "Don't! Please!" she cried.

The dragoon started fumbling in his waistcoat pocket for some rope, if there was any, but his companion shook him. "Colonel."

"The lead dragoon shot a rather exasperated look at his companion. "What now, man?" he spat.

"'Tis pointless. Why waste rope on a common woman? We have better things to do than to meddle in such petty affairs."

The officer sighed crossly. "Very well," he snapped. "We'll leave this…this _woman_…to deal with his tripe." After pushing off Ben, he motioned his horse. "Giddap!" he yelled. Leaving the neighbor's lamed horse behind, both dragoons cantered off in a huff.

The neighbor walked up to Ben and accused him again. "My horse was _shot_ by those damned redcoats on account of you, Davidson!" he yelled again. "You shall not ride any of our horses again! Ever!"

"Y-yes, sir," faltered Ben. The neighbor immediately swung a rope around the poor horse's neck and proceeded to walk it back to his stable. Ben watched the horse that he borrowed and knew during the previous three years in his life disappear.

"Just when I was getting good at horses," he muttered bitterly to himself.

Mrs. Davidson put her right arm around her son and beckoned him to face her. "You caused a whole world of trouble today, Ben," she said. "If I am to repair the damage you did, you will have to watch your younger sister while I head off to Middling Plantation to apologize to the owner for what you did. You have a responsibility now."

Ben nodded pretty solemnly. Mrs. Davidson looked at her son in all manner of seriousness once again, as she pointed her right hand index finger near his nose.

"I'll forgive you on this one because you…didn't know. But next time I don't want you wandering off away from the town ever again, or even trespassing on people's property. The next time that happens…I will ground you in the house for a whole week, possibly a month. Do I make myself clear on that?"

Ben nodded again almost timidly.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 5

One Month Later…

A typical school had come at last for Ben and his sister Hannah, with their first having occurred nearly a week ago. The May season was especially inviting to Hannah, and especially to Ben, who, being independently-minded, didn't take kindly to being cooped up in the confines of the schoolroom. Ben was seated on the right side, in two rows closer to the front in the middle area, while Hannah was seated on the left side, close to the edge, and one row closer.

The bespectacled schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel Davies, was eyeing the students carefully, while seated on his wooden Windsor chair near his crude-looking wooden desk who seemed to somewhat fear him, for he had a rather fearsome reputation, both in appearance, as well as in demeanor. He wasn't exactly altogether cruel, but his personality was somewhat strict and unsavory. His clothes were a tad dusty, and his brown-black buckled shoes were nearly unpolished.

Today's lesson was pretty much grounded in spelling. For Ben, it was not particularly a subject to look forward to when it came to Mr. Davies teaching school because Mr. Davies would often snap and scold at a student even for a minor misspelling of a word a tad complicated for their age. And even if students realized somewhat that they had misspelled a word, they were at the mercies of Mr. Davies to give them a second chance to redeem themselves in front of their classmates.

"Mr. Davidson!" the schoolmaster said quite emphatically as if almost like a snapping tone of voice. "Stand up and spell 'Independent'!'"

Ben immediately sprang up from his seat and stood straight as a stick. He took a deep breath, fearing the possible worst. "I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-A-N-T."

"Wrong!" cried Mr. Davies. "Who can spell it correctly?" he asked, his inflection descending.

A schoolboy older than Ben stood up a little sluggishly. "I-N-D-I-G…"

"The word is "_Independent_", you raving imbecile!" seethed Mr. Davies in exasperation.

Ben sort of knew this was going nowhere. He raised his hand and cried, "Sir!"

The schoolmaster glowered at him. "What?" he snapped, his inflection descending again.

Ben gulped before he said what he wanted to say. "I just remembered, sir, to spell it correctly," he faltered. "'Twas an honest mistake, sir, I realize that. Please allow me to spell it again."

The schoolmaster made a rather wretched face at him. "Very well. Stand up and spell it out loud for all of us to hear."

Ben stood up steadily and not snappily as he initially did, gulping before he began. "I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-…" He paused for a moment. "What's next…?" he whispered to himself. Then the last three letters sort of hit his head like lightning. "_E_-N-T."

Mr. Davies slowly formed a rather crafty smile. "Gooooood!" he cooed in a rather sinister manner. "At laaaast! Mr. Davidson knows how to spell his word correctly instead of gazing and daydreaming of horses in Yorktown's pastures!"

Ben formed a rather weak smile in his face, which had a tinge of fear in it. In his heart he was relieved that he was able to keep his reputation intact, as well as the situation normal. Mr. Davies looked up from his small dusty book.

"Now. Who can spell out the word…"Tranquility"?

* * *

When the day's class was over, Ben was alone in the schoolroom, glued to his seat and bent over his copybook. A few minutes later the same schoolboy who spelled the wrong word, along with his buddy, came into the room to disturb him for fun.

"Hey, Davidson!" cried the older schoolboy in a rather discourteous manner. "How did you manage to spell that word correctly? Did you cheat?"

"No, I did not," Ben seethed, as he frowned at his taunter, his whole body shaking.

"But of course he did!" exclaimed the other schoolboy mockingly. "No other boy or girl in this class couldn't even spell half that damn word correctly! You must have cheated." In a fit of nasty mischief he intentionally bumped Ben's ink bottle, spilling the black fluid all over Ben's copybook in an abhorrently messy manner. Ben was aghast.

"And that's what happens to cheaters," declared the schoolboy.

Ben was incensed. He had an itching to punch that boy's face at that very second, but when he struggled to get up he was pushed back by the older schoolboy, since he was stronger than Ben, who looked pretty helpless now.

"You can't take all three of us, Davidson," taunted the older schoolboy. "You're just a damn nobody, even if your sniveling mama says you're a gentleman."

Suddenly Hannah arrived at the scene, indignant as ever over her brother's predicament.

"Leave him alone, all of you!" she piped up defiantly. "What's he ever done to you?"

"What's he done to us?" sneered the schoolboy. "He made us look stupid in class, that's what! Now bug off and play in the dirt!"

Little Hannah would not budge an inch. "You best leave him alone, or else I'm telling my mother about the way you're mistreating my older brother!" she said in precocious defiance. "Now go away and never come back!"

The older schoolboy glowered at the little girl. "Your precocity leaves something to be desired," he muttered. He motioned his buddy away from Ben. "Come on, Widdie! Let's go find some other brat to gang up on. This girl will no doubt get us in trouble with her sniveling mother, and possibly the law." Both boys left the schoolroom in a huff.

Hannah daintily approached Ben. "'Tis a mess," she remarked, as she stared at the messy ink-stained copybook.

"Well, 'tis their bloody fault is what," said Ben crossly. He looked at his sister gratefully. "Thank you…for getting me what I thought would be a hopeless predicament."

"That's all right," she said. "You would have done the same for me, too, I were in your place."

"No doubt I would," Ben concurred quietly.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 6

Both Ben and Hannah were doing pretty well in school. But a few days later, the school day was pretty out of the ordinary in a rather negative way. For after class dismissal, Ben had to arrive home without his sister, which made Mrs. Davidson a little worried.

"Ben," she said, as she noticed Hannah's absence in a second. "Pray, why isn't your sister here?"

"She…she's with Mr. Davies at the schoolhouse," replied Ben rather hesitantly.

"But why?"

The teacher said she wanted to have…a little talk with her…about her schoolwork…"

"Come in, Ben," said Mrs. Davidson. Both she and her son stepped into the house. After shutting the door, Mrs. Davidson faced her son while bent over in a hunkered-down position.

"Is she in trouble with the schoolmaster?"

"I-I can't say, Mother," replied Ben. "All he said was that he wanted to have a talk with her. Beyond that, I know nothing whatever the affair might be."

In a few seconds there was a knocking on the door. Mrs. Davidson promptly opened it. She was shocked. There at the doorway stood little Hannah, tear-streaked and blubbering about something hurting.

"Oh, dear God," whispered Mrs. Davidson. "Hannah, tell me, what is it? What ails you, child?"

"M-m-my hands," wailed Hannah, sobbing, as tears strolled down her little face, as she was desperately rubbing her hands together hard. "They hurt…"

"Let me see, child," said Mrs. Davidson, as she gently clasped her hands on her daughter's hands and opened them up. To both Ben and Mrs. Davidson's astonishment the bloody marks of whiplash were on the palms of Hannah's hands.

"My God…" whispered Mrs. Davidson, trembling.

"That is hardly an insect bite," remarked Ben, who was too shocked as well.

"They're whiplashes, look at the straight lines," said Mrs. Davidson. She looked at her daughter earnestly. "Did the schoolmaster do this to you?" she asked.

Hannah looked up slowly and nodded, her brown-black eyes glistening with tears. Mrs. Davidson sighed and turned to Ben.

"Go get water," she ordered him. "Immediately."

"Aye, Mother," replied Ben, as he dashed off to the well. Mrs. Davidson lost no time in searching upstairs through the wardrobes for clean cloths, which she took downstairs.

By that time, Ben was already back in the house with a bucket of water filled to the brim. Mrs. Davidson also rushed to the cupboard to fetch the herbal medicines. All items were set on the dinner table and Hannah was plopped on a dining chair.

"There, there, now, let me see," cooed Mrs. Davidson as she gently unclasped her daughter's hands. Hannah's hands stung as the semi-sticky jellylike streaks of blood slowly oozed from its palms. The pain was pretty excruciating for her.

Mrs. Davidson dipped a clean cloth in the water bucket, wrung it, and gently rubbed the palms of Hannah's hands. Blood and some particles of skin collected on the wet cloth. Hannah flinched and winced as the water was ice-cold to her rather delicate skin. As soon as the cleaning was a little thorough, Mrs. Davidson then fetched the medicine from the table and soothingly rubbed it on Hannah's hands. Hannah flinched when the medicine stung and shut her eyes while squeezing tears.

"Stay still," whispered Mrs. Davidson, as she held a strip of clean cloth in her hands. "I will start with your left one. If you can't I will not be able to apply the bandage properly." She immediately faced Ben. "Can you steady her?"

With a serious nod of acknowledgement Ben held a firm grip on his sister's left arm, with his thumb touching the area connecting the hand to the arm. Mrs. Davidson slowly and thoroughly applied the bandage on the top of her hand. Then she slowly turned the hand the other way and gently tied the bandage. Mrs. Davidson then did the same thing to the other hand, with Ben steadying his sister's other hand as well.

You feel a little better now?" asked Mrs. Davidson quietly.

Hannah nodded rather tearfully. "A little," she said timidly.

Mrs. Davidson gave her daughter's bandaged hands a little squeeze.

* * *

That evening of the same day, after dinner, the Davidsons were gathered at the table. A wax candle flickered in the middle of the table. Mrs. Davidson was mending a piece of petticoat for Hannah by candlelight.

"He really lashed her hands pretty hard, didn't he," said Ben sadly, his insides seething over the injustice of his sister being subjected to such unnecessary and excessive cruelty.

"Aye, he did, Ben," agreed Mrs. Davidson understandingly, as her fingers flew smoothly straight on her stitchery. She knew just how dear Hannah was to Ben.

"That damned schoolmaster!" seethed Ben.

As much as Mrs. Davidson understood her son's indignant remark, she could not tolerate words like that in her household out of concern that her daughter might imitate him. "Language, Benjamin," she said sternly.

Ben heaved a rather exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry, Mother," he replied. "I'm just angry…angry with what that schoolmaster did to my sister for no good reason."

Mrs. Davidson looked up again from her work and faced Ben with a rather understanding, motherly look. "I know, Ben," she said. "I'm angry, too, and most likely for that reason I seem to think that sending you to that school was a bad idea." She thought for a moment. "If you're going to have an education, I'll just simply teach you at home. After all, we've got ample books in the house."

Ben perked his head up. "You mean like having a private tutor? Like what the wealthy people do?"

Mrs. Davidson sighed quietly. She gave a glance at Hannah's forlorn state of her hands, and faced Ben. "We have some debts to pay, and we're still trying to make ends meet, so the likelihood of hiring a tutor is…I hate to say it…low." She tried her best to reassure her youngsters of a positive solution of schooling.

"'Tis not as if I'm woefully ignorant," she continued. "I'm a literate woman, and given that you'll end up being the Mr. Davies' next victim of excessive whipping, necessity compels me to be…until you grow up…your personal instructor."

Ben smiled back, and so did Hannah, despite the rather painful condition of her hands. They were truly lucky to have a dedicated mother.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 7

Three months passed as Ben and Hannah spent the rest of their childhood running around the greeneries of the town and having an occasional ride at the outskirts, as long as they didn't wander too far off. Their occasional horsy rides together, with Ben steering the horse, and Hannah holding on to him were no doubt thanks to the relenting generosity of Mr. Copley, the same next-door neighbor whose fine steed that Ben rode long ago was disabled by the British officers.

Ben learned to be a little more responsible with horses, and thanks to Mr. Copley's knowledge of horses Ben was able to learn from him, though something in his instincts sort of augmented it. Since childhood he had a particular fondness of horses, even to the point of recognizing whether a horse was good or not just by looking at it.

* * *

The days rolled by. And today was particularly rainy by a slight and wet. Hannah, not bothering to notice the teeny-tiny raindrops, decided to play in the garden at the back yard.

Suddenly Hannah started going into a coughing fit. Ben went outside and found her in that rather pitiful state. Her cough was very severe.

"Hannah? What's the matter? Why are you like this?" he asked rather anxiously.

"I-_cough, cough_,-I don't-_cough_ know-_cough_," replied Hannah through her whooping cough fits.

Ben looked at his sister. Hannah looked pretty frail. "Mother!" he called. He turned to his sister again. "Why are you even outside? You want to get pneumonia?"

"I-_cough, COUGH_,-I don't…_cough, COUGH_…I wanted to-_cough_-play…_COUGH_."

Ben was breathing pretty rapidly in fright and anxiety. "Mother!" he called again. In a few second Mrs. Davidson was rushing outside to the scene.

"What is it? What's the matter?" she asked anxiously in fright. Hearing her daughter's serious coughing fits, Mrs. Davidson pressed her right hand firmly on Hannah's chest while Hannah kept coughing. She turned to her son. "Ben, fetch the apothecary immediately."

"Aye, Mother," he said rather hurriedly. He dashed back into the house and out into Main Street without another word. Mrs. Davidson gave a worried look at her daughter while Hannah continued coughing.

* * *

Early evening came as Hannah was in her plain white nightgown and mobcap, completely bedridden and fast asleep. Her face was matted in sweat that glistened in the candlelight. Mr. Henry Jones, the town doctor, monitored her condition through the use of a stethoscope and placed his left hand on Hannah's sweaty forehead.

Mr. Jones packed up his instruments and quietly left the children's bedroom. Then he proceeded downstairs to inform Mrs. Davidson about Hannah's pitiful condition.

"Your daughter, I'm afraid, has come down with consumption," he said in a serious whisper. "I gave her a tonic to calm her body, but…I can't be certain whether she'll make recovery, given that her body is, I think, frail and delicate. All we can do for now his hope…and pray."

Mrs. Davidson nodded sorrowfully. "Thank you, doctor," she said quietly, but not two ungratefully. "You've done your best."

"I hope," said Mr. Jones in a very wry manner that seemed to convey a sense of hopelessness about Hannah's farfetched recovery of health. After fishing out what appeared to be a bill on paper, he promptly left the house.

When the door was shut, Mrs. Davidson tenderly took the bill and sadly shook her head.

* * *

The next day, only one thing was certain: Hannah would not get well now. Consumption was a pretty deadly childhood disease; one where many children contracted and died as a result. Because of its contagious nature, Mrs. Davidson decided to have Ben sleep with her in her bedroom.

The hours of the same day passed and Hannah was hot with fever. Ben sat on a chair near Hannah's right side of the bed near the sunlit window during the afternoon and talked with her, for he kind of anticipated that his time with his sister might be his last. Hannah was wrapped up in cover sheets, with her little arms and hands exposed and her hands clinging gently to the top bed covers.

"The doctor says that my chances of getting well are…" began Hannah weakly.

"Slim," finished Ben in a rather grim manner. His face was kind of sad.

"Mother says I'm a good girl and I might get to heaven," said Hannah quietly in her characteristically precocious manner, as she looked at Ben with loving sisterly eyes. She let out a cough. Ben could only silently nod in agreement, as he was too sad over the prospect of losing the only sibling he has.

"Will I get to see Father?" she asked.

"Aye," replied Ben. "You will."

"He is already in heaven, I hope," said Hannah. "I hadn't got to see Father and what he looks like. Now I might have an opportunity to do so…"

"Given that you haven't long to live," finished Ben again. "But it comes at a price, Hannah," he continued. "Death."

Hannah coughed again. "Ben, don't act as if I don't want to live," she replied. "I want to live; but somehow I'm not afraid of death as I used to be when I was little like you."

Ben could only chuckle to himself at the way Hannah knew about such things for her age. "How so?" he asked.

"Mother says I'm a good girl with…_cough_…with a pure heart. God…will take me with him in his arms to heaven…"

Ben made a rather wry smile. "I wish I shared your childlike faith, Hannah," he said rather sentimentally. He gazed at his sister like a dear friend. "I will not…see you again, Hannah," he said sadly.

"Nay," replied Hannah. "But I will. From heaven above." Ben forced a smile while struggling inside to fight back tears.

"You'll be sorely missed," continued Ben.

Hannah nodded weakly. "I'm going to miss you, Ben. I miss being with you."

"So do I, Hannah," agreed Ben.

* * *

Afternoon turned to dusk as Hannah lay bedridden. Mrs. Davidson and her son came to check on her while carrying a burning candlestick on a tarnished silver candlestick holder. Her pulse was slowly diminishing, her breathing was getting pretty erratic, and her body even fainter than before.

"I fear she's fading," said Mrs. Davidson desolately. She faced her son with a heartbreaking look. "Ben, will you please fetch the Bible?"

"Aye, Mother," he replied somberly, as he left the room.

After placing the candle on the small dresser near Hannah's right side of her bed, Mrs. Davidson put her right hand on her daughter's forehead, feeling the semi-hot, lukewarm sweat as she shut her eyes. This was her daughter, and she wanted to get a last feel of her during Hannah's last moments.

In a few moments Ben was back with a well-worn Bible book with a well-worn black hardbound cover. He handed it to his mother.

"Thank you, Ben," she said gratefully, as she took her seat in the same chair that Ben sat on when he talked with his sister during the afternoon. She began to read to her the twenty-third Psalm quietly.

"The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want…" began Mrs. Davidson with utter prayerful seriousness as she read from the Bible book by candlelight. Soon the signs of dying were getting pretty apparent. Little Hannah's frail state was much weaker now.

"I…" began Hannah. Mrs. Davidson looked up from her reading with sorrowful eyes. "I…love you, Mother," she said. "Do you love me?"

Both poignant statement and question were enough to bring hot tears to Mrs. Davidson's warm, dark brown motherly eyes. "Aye, I do," she said gently, as she bent over Hannah's bed and wrapped her dying daughter in her warm embrace. "I love you, too, and so does Ben. He says you'll be sorely missed."

Little Hannah slowly formed an angelic smile on her face, her brown-black eyes glistening in the candlelight. Tilting her head back on the pillow, she breathed her last breath and died with her eyes open. The light had gone from her eyes, and her body now lay lifelessly in her bed. The last thing that Ben did for his sister was to gently shut her eyelids with his right hand fingers.

* * *

The cold morning after the funeral, Ben was inside, sitting on his bed, staring at the empty bed his sister used to sleep on. The bed reminded him of almost everything about his sister because they slept in the same room together. He suddenly felt the urge to cry, and he did exactly that. His sobs were very much irrepressible.

A gentle knock on the door was heard and Mrs. Davidson stepped into the bedroom. She quietly took her seat near her son's left side and put her arm around him.

"She was the only sibling I ever had," said Ben rather tearfully. "The only friend I truly treasured…"

Mrs. Davidson nodded understandingly at her son. "You miss her so," she said. "In a way you never missed before. "So do I, my darling Ben."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 8

Five Years Later…

Early August, 1774 A.D.

By the time Ben had reached fifteen years of age, he was already a handsome, strapping young man. For the most part he lived a pretty sheltered life, but not too sheltered to the point where he confined himself mostly to the house. Ben would often borrow one of the horses from Mr. Copley's stables and would go riding out on the pastures of Yorktown, or sometimes at the outskirts, so far as he took care not to wander past the outskirts in order not to cause unnecessary anxiety to his mother. He was the only child now in the Davidson family; or rather, what was left of it.

As it was around the middle of the decade when the colonists were protesting the taxes passed by Parliament in London three-thousand miles away, Ben managed to absorb most of the details of the current political situation and even got influenced by them as well to the point that he could be pretty hotheaded about the issues at hand.

Around the middle of the first week of September, during the afternoon, when he was finished with his studies, Ben was enjoying the day while riding around the outskirts of his hometown in leisure. He was now on his way back to the town. When he arrived back, he saddled the white horse mottled with purplish-black spots back in the Copley's stable and walked back home as briskly as his legs could carry him. He immediately stepped into the house with the door still open. He found his mother sewing elegantly decorated pieces for a cotton gown to be picked up by a middling gentlewoman.

"Had a good time riding?" asked Mrs. Davidson pleasantly as she looked up from her work, her hands flying proficiently across the neat stitches.

"Aye, mother," replied Ben. He plopped himself down on the chair.

"Will you fetch the scissors here for me, Ben?" she asked. Ben slid the wooden black-handled scissors to his mother and she daintily took them, using them to snip a portion of the dress at a certain spot before gently putting them down on the table near her.

"Mother, I have a question to ask you," said Ben. "Would it be all right if I could visit Williamsburg? The Publick Times will be pretty near, and I want to see the town preparing for it." Williamsburg was Virginia's current capital city, as it was the largest metropolis at that time. It was the center of political events and Ben kind of wanted to get a glimpse of them. But his mother shook her head disapprovingly.

"No, Ben," she said gently without being angry. "If something were to happen to you I would feel very restless miserable. You are the only child in what is left in this family, and I would feel very anxious if you were to seek restless adventure."

Ben could only heave a rather wry chuckle. "You sound just like Robinson Crusoe's father," he said.

Mrs. Davidson smiled dryly and nodded. "Besides, in order to get to Williamsburg you'll have to pass the roads on the King's Creek Plantation. And I would hate for you to get in trouble with the law again if you were to trespass on another plantation. Their owners, I'm afraid, don't take too kindly to having their property trespassed, and I'm sure I would feel the same way too if I were in their place."

Ben sighed. He felt rather trapped where he was; not only in his house, but also in his hometown. _If only there was a way_, he thought rather wistfully to himself.

"I suppose I could just ask permission to cross his lands…" he said.

"But even if you did, and assuming that you managed to get into Williamsburg, people will eventually start getting rather suspicious of you and start asking questions about where you work. You are of an age where you would normally be apprenticed to some kind of trade master. If you're not involved in a trade, how will you be able to answer truthfully such rather intrusive questions?"

Ben could only be silent on that one.

"Speaking of trade, I had in mind the idea of learning a trade in the milliner's business, but…"

"But I'm just…not cut out for it," finished Ben. "And it's women's work."

"'Tis so," replied Mrs. Davidson sadly. She kind of wanted to teach Ben the tricks of the trade about the business, but something like that would have been pretty scandalous in the town.

"'Tis time you started thinking about your future, Ben," said Mrs. Davidson. "You're already fifteen years old, and mayhap you still haven't given much thought about what your future will be."

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "I…I haven't thought of that," he said rather quietly. "In quite a while."

Ben was silent for a moment. "What about reestablishing Father's mercantile business?" he asked rather briskly.

Mrs. Davidson gave her son a rather sad face. "Darling, I'm afraid that I wasn't much of a proficient storekeeper they way your father was. Besides, we're still struggling to make ends meet."

Ben had another thought in his head, though he didn't think his mother would approve. "There was another thought, though," he said. "I was thinking of joining the local militia as a volunteer. Like what father did, you know."

Mrs. Davidson shook her head disapprovingly. "Ben," she said. "As I said, you are the only child left in this family now; the only child left to me. First, your sister Hannah died. And now, you?" she said to him sadly. "Why, Ben?"

"'Tis the only choice left to me," replied Ben.

"'Twould grieve my heart to see you go," said Mrs. Davidson. "Don't throw away your life so rashly."

Then Mrs. Davidson detected something in her son's face. "You're lonely, aren't you," she said understandingly. "Not a single friend your age, isn't it."

For Ben, one of the things about joining the militia would be that he would have some form of company. Other than that, like his father, he also had some kind of longing to make his mark in history. He thought for yet another brief moment before he sort of pressed the matter further.

Mr. Davidson decided to give in, but only incrementally, while her mind was busy conjuring up an alternative. "Well," she sighed. "I can't really keep you confined to the house forever. I can't really afford to be too selfish in keeping you with me here. If you think that a soldier's life is the best for you, then I allow you to let the decision be up to you. But first I want you to consider an alternative solution to the soldier's life, because that type of life may be appealing to you at first, but eventually regretful."

Ben waited for his mother to say anything further. Suddenly a thought hit upon her.

"Benjamin," began Mrs. Davidson softly. Ben looked up at his mother a little forlornly.

"How would you like to see a trade instead?" she asked.

"I thought I was a klutz," replied Ben, repressing a chuckle. "In everything."

"Don't give up hope," said Mrs. Davidson softly. She put her sewing down and took out an envelope from a dresser near the right side of the doorway from the inside. She sat back down near the table and gently opened it. She scanned the letter briefly before looking up.

"There is a fairly affluent merchant in Williamsburg by the name of Mr. Edward Merriman. "He is a father to three children and owns and operates a mercantile business."

"In Williamsburg?" Ben perked up.

"Aye," replied Mrs. Davidson.

"That very much reminds me of Father," said Ben.

"Aye, 'tis true."

"Is it a General Store?"

Mrs. Davidson smiled a little. "Aye. 'Tis said to be the finest store in all of Williamsburg. Here, look." Mrs. Davidson showed Ben the letter, pointing her finger at a certain spot in the paper encompassed in an elegant square outline. "A notice is included in the mail about hiring an apprentice. It looks like you have an opportunity to improve yourself in your modest station in life, Benjamin."

Ben widened his eyes as his mother looked at him. "Do you wish to take this path instead?" asked Mrs. Davidson.

Ben nodded a little shyly. Mrs. Davidson nodded as well.

"Very well," said Mrs. Davidson. "I will write a letter of request to this Mr. Merriman about the matter of the apprenticeship."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 9

That evening of the same day, Ben gallivanted off to one of Yorktown's local tavern on the edge of Main Street. The place was pretty rowdy and jovial, as men in all ranks of life were taking an evening off to themselves after a hard day's work, and the girl servants catering to the customers. Ben waltzed into the tavern, passed the loud guffaws of game players, drunkards, and the like, and walked up the bar counter.

"A mug of ale, please," he requested to the bald, slightly overweight barman as he fished out a coin of sixpence. The barman immediately stamped his doughy right hand over the coin as if stamping over a flying insect, and slid it over to himself across the counter surface until it was firmly in his strong grip. After sliding it into his pocket briskly, he turned his back on Ben for a few moments and turned again, this time with single mug of ale in his hand, which he slapped over the counter. Without much hesitation Ben took a hearty swig.

"Ah," he said heartily to himself. "Better than tea."

"Why, boy, what's wrong with tea?" cackled an elderly-looking country man.

"Too bland," replied Ben.

"That be good, wouldn't it," replied the country man. "King George's taxes on English goods such as tea are squeezin' us country bumpkins good an' dry. You don't like tea that much, you're pretty damn lucky. There's a hell of a lot of protest over that tea issue in this day and age, ya know, since the hackin' of them Boston tea chests."

"Well," said Ben rather thoughtfully. "I kind of like it."

The barman made a face. "Makes you feel English, don't it," he remarked rather tactlessly.

"It kind of soothes the spirits whenever there's concern about getting yourself drunk with this thing," answered Ben.

The country man nodded. "Aye, that be true," he said rather heartily. Ben took another swig of the ale

The country man looked at him. "You all right, boy?" he asked rather thoughtfully. "You seem to be wanderin' aimlessly around the tavern for some other reason."

Ben shot him a straight look. "Looks can be deceiving," he replied. "I don't wander around the tavern a lot."

The conversation was kind of interrupted when three strapping boys almost a year older than Ben waltzed into the tavern.

"You, Davidson!" the lead boy called.

Ben stamped his mug down in a rather unenthusiastic manner. "What now, Travis?" he asked emphatically. "You've come to pick a fight with me?" Travis, who was Yorktown's local school bully when Ben was ten years old, was almost always picking on Ben, since he was rather shy and reserved most of the time, except when he was with his family members.

"That's right, aye," replied the lead boy, grinning rather evilly.

"Look, pal," said Ben. "I'm not in any fighting mood today. I just came here to personally celebrate the day…and the time…when I finally found a trade I can actually feel confident with."

"What kind?"

"Storekeeping."

The lead boy let out a loud, raucous guffaw and the rest of pals followed suit. "Storekeeping?" he asked rather disdainfully.

"Aye," replied Ben. "Now go away."

"We're not going," said the lead boy determinedly. "Not until we've had some sport with you."

"Well get someone your own size…and your own age to have some fun sport with," said Ben, who was cross now.

The lead boy didn't bother listening. Instead he stepped up closer to Ben and threw a punch at him, which deliberately landed on Ben's stomach. Ben winced in pain.

"All right," said Ben, wincing, while holding both hands on his stomach. "You want a fight…you've got one." Clenching his right fist tight, he threw a hard punch at the lead boy's face.

"Ow!" he cried, holding his nose. A trickle of blood dripped from his left nostril. "We'll teach him," he groaned. "Come on, boys!"

The group immediately picked up Ben and threw him over the bar counter. Ben impacted on a counter area with some partially filled wineglasses and the sound of breaking glass was heard. Finally, the recoil bounced him back a little, and he landed with a hard thud on the wooden floor. For the bullies, the sport was hilarious that they let out hearty guffaws.

In what seemed to be a few minutes a well-dressed gentleman of the middling sort, and who was well into the middle of his thirties, calmly stepped into the tavern. The man was dressed in his regular black overcoat and breeches. His black-buckled shoes and white leggings were pretty spiffy. He wore a plain white kerchief round his neck, and his reddish-auburn-brown hair was tied up in a ponytail by a plain white ribbon. His brown eyes stared intently at the scene that was taking place, especially the three boys.

The man immediately eyed the bartender. "A local in this town told me that there was a young man by the name of Mr. Benjamin Davidson in this tavern. Is he still here?"

"He is," answered the bartender. "Why the hell do you want him for?"

The man stepped closer. "My name is Mr. Edward Merriman, and I've just received a letter from the young man's mother that he's here…in this tavern. There was a letter of recommendation from his mother about a possible apprenticeship at my store, and I've just come here from Williamsburg to settle the contract."

"Williamsburg, huh?" answered the barman. "Well, he's here all right." He eyed at the three bullies laughing over Ben's pitiful state.

"What are these boys laughing over, and what does this have to do with this Davidson lad I'm supposed to meet right now?"

The barman chuckled. "Mr. Davidson…has been literally beaten to a pulp by three notorious gangs," he replied.

Mr. Merriman gave a rather cursory nod. "So it seems…" he said. He calmly turned his back on the barman.

"You thinking of taking all three?" he asked, chuckling.

"I think that's what I'm thinking," said Mr. Merriman.

"Best of luck," said the barman, chuckling again. Mr. Merriman left the counter and calmly walked up to the area near another area of the counter where the three bullies were laughing over Ben. The hilarity of their sport became short-lived when they immediately came to the realization that someone was eyeing them intently. Mr. Merriman's brown eyes had its gaze set upon the boys that they started silencing themselves. Knowing that some kind of challenge was imminent in taking place in the tavern, the rowdy customers hushed, anticipating a rather ugly bar fight. Mr. Merriman was distanced some eight feet away from the boys.

Mr. Merriman cleared his throat. "Lads, I believe you have someone that I anticipate to be mine for the moment and I want him right now. His name is Mr. Benjamin Davidson."

The lead boy spoke up as well. "Well, whoever he is, he isn't here," he replied briskly.

The sounds of light groans almost betrayed Ben's location.

"I hear the faint sounds of groaning, all right," concluded Mr. Merriman. "Looks like you've been beating up somebody just for the fun of it."

The lead boy sneered. "So you did. Sir." he said with contempt.

"Then would you kindly stand out of the way so I can get to him?"

"Nay. We're still having our sport over him. Now bug your arse off."

The last demand almost miffed Mr. Merriman. Suddenly he spotted a dueling pistol near his right side, resting on a small round table in which an elderly gentleman was occupying for the moment.

"Do you mind if I borrow your pistol?" he asked courteously. The gentleman slid the pistol to the opposite side of his area, where Mr. Merriman was. Mr. Merriman calmly took the pistol and surveyed it briefly.

"Is it loaded?" he casually inquired the gentleman.

The gentleman nodded his head. "Don't go shooting nobody," he said.

"I guarantee that won't happen, sir," assured Mr. Merriman calmly and casually. When he set his intent calm stare at the lead bully, he pulled back the cock and pointed the pistol at him, while at the same time keeping his right elbow bent as opposed to extending straight.

"That type of boorish behavior is bound to get you into a world of trouble lads, especially you," he said to the boys. "Now I don't usually fight with a gun myself, but this time I'm pretty inclined to make an exception here because you've got someone that is deservedly mine, and I want him at this minute. And you boys are getting in my way."

"There's nobody else here, sir," said the lead boy. But poor, beat-up Ben let out a fairly audible groan.

"Again I still hear the faint sounds of groaning," said Mr. Merriman coolly. "I've been told that Mr. Davidson is in the tavern in it sure looks like you've been having terrible fun with him."

"And what makes _you_ think we could do something like that?" asked the lead boy in a rather insolent manner.

"I just came into the tavern not long ago watching you have a good laugh over someone else's injuries," said Mr. Merriman. "That makes all three of you the culprits."

"So what?" retorted the lead boy. "You're going to turn us in to the law?"

"That's my reasonable inclination, unless all three of you peacefully head out of the tavern right now."

"Says who?"

"Says I."

"Well you'll have to take all three of us first," said the lead boy. "You've got backup?"

"Aye," replied Mr. Merriman. Instantly he aimed the pistol at an area of the wooden floor nearest the lead bully's legs and fired the shot. The impact of the bullet startled the boy that he instinctively jumped back in fright, but managed to regain his senses in a few seconds.

"You've got another pistol?" asked the lead boy, sneering arrogantly as he brandished a pocket knife from the pocket of his breeches. "'Cause you've just fired your one and only shot." His buddies also brandished pocket knives, too.

Mr. Merriman didn't bother answering the challenging question, but calmly shot casual glances across the tavern. "Boys, you're more than welcome to shoot those three arrogant ruffians. I myself will take the blame…and the responsibility."

There was audible murmuring among the tavern customers. Suddenly one fairly middle-aged man jumped up. "Are you insane, man?" he said rather tactlessly.

The country man, who had initially spoken with Ben previously, smiled brazenly with glee. "With pleasure, sir," he said, as she was the first to cock his worn-out-looking blunderbuss and aim it at the lead bully. A few customers brandished out their flintlock pistols, knives, and some aimed their long-barreled muskets and rifles at the bullies as well.

"Ready to fire on your order, sir," said the country bumpkin.

Mr. Merriman smiled rather craftily at the boys. "Now do you have a perfectly good reason to quit the tavern?" he asked coolly.

The lead boy started acting pretty sulky. Snorting in humiliated disgust, he motioned the rest of his buddies to walk with him out of the tavern. They left without another word.

Mr. Merriman coolly blew the smoke from the smoking barrel of the pistol, which now had a gunpowdery tang from firing it, and returned it to the elderly gentleman.

"Many thanks, good sir," he said rather courteously.

"Humph. Don't mention it," grunted the gentleman.

Mr. Merriman beamed at him gratefully and approached the area of the counter where the three bullies were. The usual lively music and rowdy discussions and talk continued, and business resumed.

"Do I have the honor of addressing…Mr. Benjamin Davidson, assuming he's still here and he hasn't got himself totally drunk from all that booze he's presumably been drinking?"

Surprisingly Ben suddenly popped up from behind the bar counter in the midst of crushing glass. His clothes were nearly sopping wet from the beverages spilled, and his face, as well as his clothes, had tiny bleeding cuts from impacting on crushed glass and nearly wine-soaked. His eyes are kind of bleary from the hard hits he had on his head.

"You have," he said rather weakly and in a little bit of a sing-song voice. "My name is Benjamin Davidson."

Mr. Merriman made a rather disapproving face. "Splendid," he said finally, without being unfriendly with the young man. "Let's get you patched up and seated on a table so that the two of us can have a discussion about the matter of our contract regarding your apprenticeship."

* * *

As the tavern music and bustling business continued throughout the evening, the two men were now holding a discussion with each other over the prospects of apprenticeship. Ben had a bandage wrapped around his forehead and his nose was bandaged as well. All bandages had spots and streaks of blood exuded over. His eyes still squinted.

"Are you a Patriot?" grunted Ben.

"In a manner of speaking," replied Mr. Merriman. "What if I were a Loyalist instead?"

"I'd box you," answered Ben.

Mr. Merriman chuckled rather genially to himself. "You would indeed," he said. "Your hotheadedness knows no bounds, Mr. Davidson. But I fear 'twill become the death of you if you let it fester inside your guts."

Ben snorted a little as he put his mug of ale down. "Humph. You…of all people…Mr.…Merriman,…can't beat out of me six years worth of political influence on the side of the Sons of Liberty," he said. "I grew up with that kind of influence. 'Tis part…and parcel…of my own hometown."

Mr. Merriman widened his eyes. "That seems rather understandable, given the outrageous Stamp Act from the Parliament ten years ago," he said.

"I was only a little boy during that time," said Ben. "My mother told me about it."

"So she did," rejoined Mr. Merriman. "I came by your house to have a talk with her before I arrived to this tavern looking for you. She's been telling me everything about you."

Ben nodded in assent as he took a hearty swig of his ale and set the mug down on the table with a cursory bang.

"As an apprentice, you're going to be residing with me in my household, learning the tools of the trade in the mercantile business while assisting me in my establishment," said Mr. Merriman. "And in about five years, possible seven, depending if you do well under my good graces, you can start off in the next stage of your life as a journeyman, either seeking employment with another master, or in a partnership with me."

"Do I get paid somewhat?" asked Ben.

"Of course," said Mr. Merriman. "Not in the same manner if you were officially employed as a journeyman, but paid nonetheless. That is what 'twould mean when I say that you would be hired as my apprentice in my shop."

"That's a comfort," replied Ben in a rather tactless manner. Mr. Merriman could somewhat perceive his demeanor.

"If you're not interested with the prospect, let me know now, and I'll just get someone else," said Mr. Merriman.

The statement was pretty much enough to wake Ben to his fairly keen senses.

"I'll…I'll do it," said Ben.

"You sound pretty hesitant to do it," said Mr. Merriman.

"No, honestly," said Ben in earnest. "'Tis pretty much the only decent path in my life left."

"Is it because of your mother?"

"Partially. But 'tis also for my sake, too. I want…very much…to learn a respectable trade. I…I think I've already made myself too much of a fool in the past few years."

Mr. Merriman nodded. "Now you seem to sound pretty earnest about the apprenticeship prospect," he said. "Now you do have to remember that as an apprentice you are bound by law to stay true to your word and your contract. Any violation of the contract between us can get you in trouble with the law, and possibly earn my wrath. Is there an understanding between us?"

Ben looked down to the floor a bit before he perked his head up again. "Why, are you that…wrathful?" he asked a little fearfully.

Mr. Merriman chuckled. "Not quite. You might get a good scolding perhaps."

"Better…than the wrath part," remarked Ben. "I think…there is some understanding between us," he gulped. He kind of knew that breaking a contract with the master was pretty dishonorable.

"Very well," said Mr. Merriman. "I have to leave now, but I can assure you that I'll be heading back to this town to pick you up and bring you to Williamsburg, where you'll pretty much be residing for the rest of your apprenticeship."

"You have my word," said Ben.

Smiling a bit, Mr. Merriman doffed his tricorn cap and headed out of the tavern, leaving Ben slightly bewildered and relieved at the same time.

* * *

Mrs. Davidson was busy as a bee on another mail-ordered dress when Ben stepped inside the house. Immediately looking up from her work, she stood up, looking very much aghast at Ben's seeming sorry state.

"Goodness, look at you, Benjamin!" she said, shocked. "You're a ghastly mess is what!"

"My apologies, Mother," said Ben almost excitedly, as he plopped himself down on the dining chair as Mrs. Davidson tended to his injuries.

"However did you get into a mess like this?" she asked. "I'm dying to know."

Ben gulped a bit. "Bullies, Mother," he replied. "Three of 'em. One landed a punch in my stomach…and I hit him back…in the face. Then all three of them…in retaliation…threw me over the bar counter…and that's how I gat all the cuts and bruises…which you see right now, plain as day. Part of my body touched broken glass…and judging by the sorry state of my clothes…they most likely were filled with beverage."

"Dear, dear," said Mrs. Davidson, shaking her head in a disapproving manner. "You have to be a little more careful next time, Benjamin. Another stint like that and you'll be in trouble with the law. Or worse."

"Ha, ha," said Ben rather sardonically.

Mr. Davidson shot her son a disapproving and suspicious look. "You're starting to act a little too excitedly despite your injuries," she said. "What now, my son?"

"Well…" gulped Ben, as he winced while Mrs. Davidson gently checked on the bandage, as well as his clothes, which she subjected to the scissors while sliding them across the back of his clothes, "I saw this Mr. Merriman this evening." He chuckled to himself for a brief moment. "I was on the floor, groaning, and mayhap the last thing I heard was the firing of a gun, and he probably told them to go git."

"Hmm…" replied Mrs. Davidson rather thoughtfully. "What else happened at the tavern concerning…you?"

"Then…then we had a talk over the matter of my apprenticeship with him. Five, mayhap seven years of it, to be exact."

"Well, that should certainly keep you busy," said Mrs. Davidson. "At least Mr. Merriman and his respectable family will certainly keep an eye on you that you don't get into trouble once in a while as you learn a respectable trade."

"I suppose," replied Ben, gulping again. "'Twouldn't hurt but one bit. He's coming tomorrow to pick me up…"

Mrs. Davidson surveyed her son again after taking off his slightly bloodstained shirt with the crushed glass all over it. Ben was mortified. "My clothes! What did you do with my clothes?" He wrapped his arms across the front of his body.

"Calm down, Benjamin, you've still got your breeches, and your shoes and stockings," assured Mrs. Davidson. "You just head off to the bathtub immediately upstairs and wash yourself while I look for another decent shift and shirt, as well as another waistcoat for you to wear on your first day. If Mr. Merriman is, as you say, coming to pick you up, I don't want you looking like an unenthusiastic ruffian. Mr. Merriman is a distinguished gentleman, even for the middling sort, and 'twould be well if you presented yourself in a more respectable fashion."

"Aye, Mother," Ben gulped again.

"Now wash up," ordered Mrs. Davidson. "And mind you don't take forever. You have to be in bed early."

* * *

This entire chapter was largely inspired by a part in the _Star Trek 2009_ movie, where Capt. Christopher Pike meets the young James T. Kirk.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 10

The next day, Mr. Merriman came by the Davidson residence. After briefly inquiring whether Ben was ready, Mrs. Davidson started calling Ben downstairs.

In a kind of calm Ben came downstairs, fairly well dressed in his plain white shirt, over-vest, and bright-red waistcoat. His dark blue breeches and plain white stockings were spiffy-looking, thanks to his mother's pretty thorough ironing, as well as his help. His black buckled shoes were tidy as ever.

"Ready to be off, then?" said Mr. Merriman in a friendly tone of voice.

"Aye," replied Ben.

"Well then. There's not a moment to lose. Don't dawdle too much."

"Aye, sir," said Ben. "Can I take a little time to say farewell?"

Mr. Merriman nodded and headed back outside to prep the wagon horses. When Ben was in the middle of the doorway he faced his mother closely for what would seem to be his last time.

"I won't…ever see you again," said Ben a little awkwardly. "Will I, Mother."

Mrs. Davidson gently put both her hands on her son's cheeks. "You feel…that 'twill be lonely without any of your relations to keep you company, is that it?" she asked understandingly.

Ben nodded. "That seems to be," he replied quietly. "It can get pretty lonely…you know…without you, or father, or Hannah…without a familiar face…"

Mrs. Davidson nodded understandingly. "It can," she replied. "But the unfamiliar faces you encounter in your lifetime will, in time, become familiar – if you learn to open up."

Ben gazed at his mother, nodding a little.

"'Twill not be the last time you see me," Mrs. Davidson assured her son to boost up his optimism a bit. "When your apprenticeship is over, you can come back to Yorktown to see me, if you so choose. But I only wanted what was best for you." She set her eyes on her son. "Oh, Benjamin," she said. "I…I can only promise you that despite your father and your dear sister gone from this world I can try my best to keep on living in this world just a little more, for your sake. But a time comes when you have to grow up and face the challenges of life with hopeful heart."

Ben nodded quite sadly. He probably knew he was going to be pretty lonely then, with no close friend or relation to confide his fears. Mrs. Davidson kissed her son on his right cheek.

"You be a good boy now," she said. "Work hard, don't get into too much trouble, and…" she broke off. "Remember that you always have a proud mother in whichever respectable path in life you choose."

"Aye, Mother," replied Ben. Slowly he turned away and climbed on Mr. Merriman's wagon, looking back. Mr. Merriman goaded the horses, and the two rode off to the end of Main Street.

* * *

Mr. Merriman and Ben had already reached the end of the outskirts of Yorktown and were now traveling the dirt path in the midst of King's Creek plantation.

"That's the plantation where my father-in-law runs," said Mr. Merriman. "Or rather my wife's father." He pointed at the plantation house, which was slowly emerging from the dense clump of trees. "King's Creek."

Ben nodded. "I…I was kind of itching to travel that road," he admitted. "When I was riding one of our neighbor's horses." He paused for a moment. "What's your wife's father's name?"

"William Fellows," replied Mr. Merriman. "His wife, Mercy, died six years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Ben a little stiffly quietly.

Passing by the dirt road, the two men now passed by the fairly elegant plantation house.

"That is…awfully grand," remarked Ben.

"Aye, 'tis so," replied Mr. Merriman.

The duo passed another series of roads until they came to near the outskirts of Virginia's current capital city, Williamsburg.

"We're coming up on Williamsburg now," said Mr. Merriman. Ben immediately woke up from his daydreaming.

They now entered the grand metropolis on the Duke of Gloucester Street. Ben had never been to a large city before, and Williamsburg was the largest city. The city was bustling. Strapping gentlemen and ladies in elegant and modest-looking gowns slid past the wagon.

Ben soaked all the sights he could. This was his first time he could see the mundane world at its most prominent, before he would be stuck up with his apprenticeship at Mr. Merriman's establishment. It was not long before Ben notices someone confined to the stocks, with the victim being teased about by passers-by.

"I…I hope I don't end up in a predicament like that," he said a little fearfully.

"Aye," replied Mr. Merriman. "But comparatively the stocks are far milder a punishment than the pillory. If you were to be locked up in the pillory, there's no way to dodge whatever garbage is being thrown at you; in addition to that you would have to endure the terrible and torturous prospect of being undesirably tickled or possibly whipped by the unscrupulous passers-by."

Ben was a little nervous. "Do you…do you sometimes do things like that, sir?" he asked, trying not to sound too rude.

Much to Ben's relief, Mr. Merriman was not feeling that offended by that question. "I make it a point not to do things like that. Besides, what if I were in that poor unfortunate man's place?"

Ben looked at Mr. Merriman and beamed. "You're a noble sort of person, sir," he said. His body relaxed a little. "I just hope that doesn't happen to me; or if it does I'd rather be in the stocks."

Mr. Merriman shook his head and chuckled to reassure the rather shy Ben. "You won't," he said. "As long as you're under my supervision, and you do your best not to get into all sorts of trouble, you'll turn out fine."

Ben continued mesmerizing the city and soaking up the sights. "They're just about right in saying that Williamsburg is the Virginia Colony's capital city," he declared with admiration.

"That they are, Mr. Davidson," said Mr. Merriman.

"You…you must be awfully lucky to start a business in a place like this," said Ben, almost astonished.

"Well, 'tis not just that," replied Mr. Merriman while scratching his head. "I knew this place ever since I was your age, when I was completing my business studies at the College."

"The College of William and Mary?" inquired Ben. He heard stories about the city from his mother and some of the neighbors back in his hometown."

"Aye," replied Mr. Merriman. "And I seemed to miss the place too much, and after I married nearly four years ago, around the time when our eldest daughter was born, my business was established six years ago, back in 1768, if I recall. You'll find the year of establishment when we arrive to the shop."

There was brief silence before Ben spoke up again out of curiosity. "Who's your eldest daughter?" he queried curiously.

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr. Merriman, beaming his friendly smile. "She helps at the store on various occasions, so 'tis likely you'll see her."

The duo passed by a close-knit neighborhood of tidy clapboard houses before reaching a shop with a woodcut picture of a merchant ship, wherein under the image read "Edward Merriman" and the year 1769. This was the Merriman General Store, said to be the finest store in all of Williamsburg.

"I need to visit the store briefly to take care of unfinished business in the counting room," said Mr. Merriman. "You're welcome to look around the store and get your bearings on what you'll be doing tomorrow on your first day. Careful you don't break anything, though."

"I will, sir," replied Ben.

"And no thieving around."

"I don't steal, sir," said Ben. "You can count on that."

"Hmm. I hope I can. I think I can."

When the two entered the shop Mr. Merriman immediately headed off to the counting room and shut the door.

Ben mesmerized the store and was pretty awed about it. The shop was stacked with goods imported from various countries around the world which England mostly did business with, such as Holland, France, on occasion, and China. A fairly robust black man by the name of Marcus was stacking fat-bellied sacks of rice and other coarse grain at the other end of the store.

At the right hand end was a girl about nine years of age, on the ladder, stacking linen bolts. Her hair was of a very vibrant reddish-auburn color, which peeked and flowed out of her mobcap, and pinned up in a bun by a plain white ribbon lace. Her flowery autumn gown was appropriate for the season, and her black-buckled shoes added a touch-up of modesty about her in the middling sort.

Immediately alerted the girl abruptly turned her head to her left side and stared at Ben wide-eyed. Ben stared incessantly at her wavy red hair, and what was best, her sparkling emerald-green eyes. Ben had almost never seen such a lovely girl before, with an ideal combination of vibrant red hair and sparkling green eyes.

Ben recoiled a bit, as this was the first time in his life that he had seen a pretty redheaded girl with such ideal features. His astonishment had nearly got the better of him. Not paying attention, he ended up stepping over an empty bottle and stumbled completely to the ground.

The girl immediately burst into a fit of giggles because the sight of an awkward teenage boy was just somewhat laughable.

"You all right?" asked the girl.

"I think…" replied Ben a little shyly as he struggled to get up from the floor.

Seconds later, the door of the counting room opened and Mr. Merriman stepped out, alerted to Ben's situation. He shook his head and smiled rather dryly. "That's what happens when you don't pay attention," he said almost calmly.

Ben gulped a bit. "I…sorry…sir," he stammered. "I was just…" he kept looking at the redhead. "…you know…"

"Well, you can thank God that you didn't break anything, or this apprenticeship would be all over before it began," said Mr. Merriman. Then he turned to face the girl.

"Lissie?" he called.

The girl faced Mr. Merriman briskly. "Yes, Father?" she asked.

Ben was almost astounded at the spunk and sprite of that girl. "Lissie?" he muttered to himself in wonderment. The girl was pretty mature for her age.

"Our apprentice is here," said Mr. Merriman. "Should you not greet him as well?"

"Ap-apprentice?" stammered the girl. She heaved a rather downtrodden and exasperated sigh as she climbed down the ladder.

Mr. Merriman put his arm around the girl. "Ben," he began. "I'd like to introduce you…to my eldest daughter Miss Felicity Merriman. Miss Felicity, this is our new apprentice, Mr. Benjamin Davidson."

Felicity gave Ben a rather curt nod in rather wry attitude of "I really want nothing to do with him at the moment" sort of thing.

"Well, go on," goaded Mr. Merriman, smiling a little playfully while giving his daughter a little push. It was enough to make Felicity take a fairly dainty little step forward.

The girl bobbed a fairly courteous curtsy. "How do you do?" she murmured a little coyly, smiling a bit.

"Well, thank, you, Miss Felicity," replied Ben in a rather stiff manner. He felt too shy and awkward to say anything else after that greeting.

Mr. Merriman allowed the two children to get acquainted with each other by staring at each other for a brief moment before he decided to cut in. "Well," he said, after clearing his throat. "Unless there's anything further to say, then I think 'tis time to head back home." He did a gentlemanly stance. "After you…Miss Felicity," he said, as he ushered her out the door in a gentlemanly fashion. It seemed that the girl did enjoy being treated like a gentlewoman by her father and that's what he usually did from time to time. Felicity formed a sweet smile on her face at both her father and Ben and proceeded out of the store.

* * *

Both Ben and Mr. Merriman were taking a stroll on the way to the place of residence while Felicity gaily bounded like a deer, her vibrant red hair waving playfully as she jumped up and down.

"I'm just a mite curious," said Mr. Merriman. "What on earth made you stumble on the floor?"

"Your daughter," replied Ben.

Mr. Merriman chuckled at the thought of that. "Oh," he replied. "You somehow acted as though there was something…unusual…in her."

Ben gulped back a bit. "'Tis just that…well…I've just never seen many a girl like her that has a lot of…spunk," replied Ben rather awkwardly and hesitantly.

"That takes getting used to," said Mr. Merriman understandingly. "You'll grow to like her soon enough. She may be impatient, flighty, and headstrong, but she's very lively child, which, for the most part, we feel blessed to have."

"A quality which you find you find very…admirable," said Ben, a little nervously.

"Aye," replied Mr. Merriman. "You won't find any girl like that in the whole of Williamsburg who can very much be like our little Lissie."

"Swell," remarked Ben.

"Of course, her mother may disapprove a bit," said Mr. Merriman.

By the time the group reached the tidy two-story clapboard house a few blocks from the General Store, Ben noticed Felicity being the first to step inside the house. She held the door open for him and Mr. Merriman.

"Thank you, Lissie," said Mr. Merriman kindly.

When both he and Ben were now inside the foyer, Felicity nodded with a rather wry smile and shut the door. A fairly sturdy black housekeeper, Rose, arrived at the scene and helped take off Mr. Merriman's waistcoat and tricorn hat to put away. Right away Ben was ushered by Mr. Merriman into the parlor.

In the parlor was a dainty, ladylike woman well into her early thirties seated on the main sofa. Her reddish-marigold hair flowed smoothly from her creamy-white pinnercap, which she usually took a habit of wearing almost all the time and she wore a turquoise-blue gown which flowed freely downward.

Below her were two lively-looking little youngsters, a sister and brother. The little girl was around six years of age, and the boy was three years younger. Each of their hair was of the same reddish-color that Felicity had, but the boy's short hair was a tad brownish, like Mr. Merriman's. Both little mites were steeped in some kind of board game.

Mr. Merriman proceeded to introduce Ben to the rest of his family members when Mrs. Merriman rose up from her work. "Is that our new apprentice that you planned to hire?" she asked almost sweetly in a ladylike manner.

"'Tis, dear," quipped Mr. Merriman as he cleared his throat. "Everyone, meet Mr. Benjamin Davidson,…our new apprentice. Ben, this is…my darling wife, Mrs. Martha Merriman. She is, I have to say, quite an accomplished gentlewoman."

Mrs. Merriman bobbed a gracious, ladylike curtsy in a manner as if she was accomplished at it. "How do you do, Mr. Davidson," she said graciously.

Ben stiffly and shyly waved his right hand almost cursorily. "Hi," he greeted. The little girl bobbed a lively curtsy after her mother. Her brother, however, stared at him with intense curiosity with his puppy dog eyes.

"Our Lissie has been already introduced to our new apprentice," mentioned Mr. Merriman.

"So I see," said Mrs. Merriman kindly, as she gathered the youngsters under her wing. "Mr. Davidson, this is little Nan, and she is…six years old." Nan smiled a tad impishly while holding up six fingers in both hands; five on her right, and one on her left. Mrs. Merriman then turned to the boy. "And this…is little William, only three years younger. Say hi, William," she said to her son.

William waved back, just like Ben did.

"He's a little shy, almost like my younger daughter," said Mrs. Merriman. "You don't mind, do you? I mean…"

"No, not really," replied Ben reservedly. "I'm fine with that, thank you…Mrs. Merriman."

With a nod, Mrs. Merriman turned to her husband. "Shall I assist Rose in cooking dinner?"

"That would be grand dear," replied Mr. Merriman. "Please do."

Bobbing a curtsy, Mrs. Merriman, along with Rose, headed out of the parlor. Mr. Merriman, Ben and Felicity headed off to the study room.

"But Father," said Felicity. "I've always enjoyed working at the store. I don't understand…"

"Aside from someone to assist in stacking the goods I also need an extra hand in lifting the heavy merchandise and making deliveries to and fro the town. And Ben is…as he seems…quite up to it, if given his bearings."

"Ohhh," whined Felicity. She always loved working at the store, and the idea of someone taking away her place was not something she took rather kindly to.

"Besides, your mother will need help with the other household chores," said Mr. Merriman.

Felicity hung her head a little dejectedly and made a face. _That new apprentice_, she thought to herself disappointedly.

"He's not that much of an unfriendly lad. You'll grow to like him," Mr. Merriman assured his daughter.

Felicity heaved a sigh.

* * *

During the family dinner, Ben was feeling a tad shy and reserved. Ben's reserved mood was sort of broken by a tad when Mrs. Merriman made small talk through making queries about his hometown and his relations. Nan and William kept their childlike eyes on him. Felicity also studied him intently with fascination, as if it was her first time she had ever seen an older boy during her childhood.

"So how's your family back in Yorktown?" asked Mrs. Merriman curiously.

_Or rather, what's left of it_, Ben thought to himself as he didn't feel up to talking about his family. But he felt kind of obliged to answer some remnants of the question. "My family's…fine," answered Ben a little stiffly.

"His mother is the only one he has left in his family," informed Mr. Merriman. "From what she told me, both his father and his younger sister passed away."

Mrs. Merriman faced Ben. "Pray, how?" she asked considerately.

"I…don't feel up to talking about it," said Ben. His shyness, as well as the fact that talking about them was too painful for him, kind of prevented him from divulging information about his family members, as Ben was quick to point out.

"I see," said Mrs. Merriman understandingly.

Felicity kept studying Ben until she felt a sharp kick from under the table. _Ouch!_ she thought rather painfully. Felicity shot a scowl at her sister sitting beside her. Nan didn't return the glare, but only looked composed as ever, in demure seriousness.

Shaking her head, Felicity decided to pipe up a question. "Will you tell us about your family sometime later tomorrow?" she asked.

"I might…" said Ben, his voice trailing off. Somehow he felt pretty lonely, despite the company.

"Did you get to see a bit of sightseeing around Williamsburg?" asked Mrs. Merriman.

"A bit," replied Ben. "We briefly passed by a plantation called King's Creek owned by a William Fellows, from what Mr. Merriman said. I could never get near that area when I was little. I got in trouble last time for trespassing on a plantation."

Felicity felt her spirits getting jittery. "That's Grandfather!" she exclaimed.

"Lissie, keep your voice down," chided Mrs. Merriman gently.

"Yes, Mother," said Felicity meekly. She turned to Ben, who muttered the word "Grandfather?" to himself. "Did you meet him?" she asked him.

"Nay," replied Ben. "We just…passed by." Ben cleared his throat a bit. "Mr. Merriman, um...mentioned that his wife, Mercy, had died six years ago, when little Nan was born." Her voice carried a tinge of sadness before she regained her composure.

"How did you get in trouble for trespassing on a plantation?" asked Felicity almost excitedly.

"Lissie!" exclaimed Mrs. Merriman.

"Um…" replied Ben, unable to talk any further about it.

"He'll tell you more tomorrow, when he can get acquainted with his new surroundings, Lissie dear," said Mr. Merriman. "Let's let the lad eat."

The conversation fluctuated back and forth as it continued throughout the entire dinner.

* * *

Evening came. After the family devotion, Mr. Merriman personally led his new apprentice to his new accommodations as they reached the stable while holding his lantern.

"The…the stable?" asked Ben rather curiously. He was used to sleeping on a bed in a house that to him the stable was somewhat unorthodox to his gentlemanly tastes.

"I'm sorry we have no other appropriate accommodations," said Mr. Merriman. "The stable is pretty much the only thing available for apprentices and the like."

Ben bit his lip and sighed.

"'Twill be warm…and fairly cozy in there," said Mr. Merriman. "You can trust me on that. You won't shiver. Besides, one of the advantages is that you can have a private area to yourself."

"That's a comfort," replied Ben wryly, as the two stepped inside the stable.

"The loft is up there," said Mr. Merriman, pointing at a second-story loft at the far end of the stable, which could only be reached by a ladder. "And there's a pillow and sheets, too. Believe me, Ben, you won't feel so deprived while you're under the household roof."

Ben instinctively sniffed a bit. The atmosphere of the stable had a rather horsey smell to it, which Ben was fairly used to, given that he had been with horses occasionally during his childhood.

"Sleep well," said Mr. Merriman. "Good night."

"Good night…Mr. Merriman," said Ben a little awkwardly.

When the stable doors were shut, Ben climbed up the ladder to the loft and lay back on the pillow over the sheets with his head resting on his hands, dreaming about what might be in store for him tomorrow, as well as for his future at hand. He also thought about the spunky, sprightly young redhead girl who had the gall to playfully laugh at him over his awkward stumbling. At this point he wondered whether he would grow to like her, even if he was fifteen and she was nine. Deep down inside him was a longing for a close friend, just like his deceased sister. Leaving the rest up to God, he closed his eyes and fell into deep, manly slumber.

* * *

A/N (1): Mr. Merriman married his wife around the 1760's, specifically 1764. That little factoid has something to do with the day when he first set up his shop. (Somewhat...)

A/N (2): The part where Nan kicks Felicity's leg from under the table was from "P.I.D"'s _Anticipation and Disappointment_. It is revealed in _Anticipation and Disappointment _that the reason why Nan did that was because Felicity was staring at Ben for an awfully long period of time, and according to Nan, it was most improper to stare.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Young Benjamin Davidson**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 11

Ben began his first day at the Merriman General Store. Mr. Merriman busied himself with teaching him the basics of the mercantile business as Ben assisted his master with the various tasks imbued upon him. Felicity would on occasion drop by the store to get some spices for cooking, or just an occasional piece of rock candy.

It was during the later part of the day sometime in the afternoon that Felicity came back to the store to ask more questions about Ben's personal history.

"You promised you'd tell me more about your family, Ben," said Felicity.

"So I did, Felicity Merriman," said Ben a little wryly.

"Father mentioned that you had a father and a sister who died," said Felicity. "Can you tell me more about them?"

Ben gulped a bit as he was stacking jars. "My father…was a merchant, just like your father," said Ben. "He went off to join the Virginia Militia. He died when I was only four years old, while fighting off a Cherokee Indian attack against the Roanoke settlement."

Felicity's face was now in earnest seriousness. "I'm…I'm sorry to hear about that," she said as tactfully as she could.

"Then I grew up without a father. And then by the time I was ten, my only sister Hannah died of consumption when she was six."

"Oh, dear," said Felicity. Her younger sister Nan was just the same age, and she kind of feared that the same thing might happen to her, though she prayed in her mind that it would not be the case. "She's as old as my younger sister Nan, then," she said.

"Aye," replied Ben. "She was more than just a sister, she was a friend. We played together, we did things together, we went to school together…"

"School?" asked Felicity.

"Well, briefly there was a school that Mother sent us to because we were trying to make ends meet. Occasionally the schoolmaster would chew us out now and then, and I would occasionally get bullied by some of the schoolboys." He reminisced on the scene. "Funny…how my sister managed to get them off me by her defiance."

Felicity chuckled to herself. "I dare say, that sounds an awful lot like me," she admitted.

"Then when poor Hannah got seriously whipped on the palms of her hands, we…we decided to school at home."

"That must be nice," said Felicity thoughtfully. She was pretty lucky for that, too. She looked at Ben thoughtfully as he continued while making sure the jars were neatly stacked.

"Then…later on, we started taking notice of Hannah's serious coughs. Doctor said 'twas the consumption. My Mother and I were with her during her last moments."

"That was sad," said Felicity thoughtfully. She looked at Ben. "Did you cry?"

Ben chuckled. "I'm…I'm afraid I did" he admitted wryly. "Then I felt so alone. But at least there was Mother."

Felicity decided to change the subject. "You mentioned that at one time you got in trouble for trespassing on a plantation. How did that happen?"

Ben chuckled again as he leaned over the counter. "You won't like to hear it, Felicity Merriman. 'Twill make you so ashamed to make any relations with me."

"That's not true!" cried Felicity. "I occasionally got myself into trouble, when I carelessly rolled my hoop into Mrs. Burnie's nice clean laundry."

"Well, compared to that, my end result was being caught by two officers of the law, which can put a permanent mark on a man's reputation," said Ben.

Felicity began to feel rather thoughtful about Ben's previous predicament. "So how did you get yourself into trouble?" she pressed further.

"Well," began Ben a little hesitantly. "I…um…I was riding one of Mr. Copley's horses into the woods almost away from the outskirts of my hometown until I came across Middling Plantation. Then when I turned back to reach home two British dragoons were upon me. They shot the horse."

"Goodness!" exclaimed Felicity. "Pray, where?"

"Oh, on the leg," replied Ben. "'Twas enough to tumble me off. Then I was hauled away, horse and all, back to our house, where the officers blamed me for the damage of the horse when it was they who shot it."

Felicity could not help laughing.

"What?" asked Ben, feeling a little miffed over the idea of someone laughing over his embarrassing moment.

"The story…is somewhat funny," admitted Felicity. "And downright embarrassing." She looked at him with childlike admiration. "You really did have a lot of interesting adventures, didn't you, Ben."

"Well…most of my childhood was just as insignificant as yours," said Ben.

"Ben," said Felicity a little crossly, feeling miffed over the idea of her life being insignificant. Ben started chuckling, too.

"You really do know how to insult a lady, do you, Benjamin Davidson," said Felicity.

"Do I?" asked Ben, almost laughing to himself.

"'Tis very ungentlemanly of you, Benjamin Davidson," said Felicity.

"You still haven't gotten used to me yet, me with my reserved personality," said Ben. "I don't usually talk a lot."

Felicity nodded and smiled. "Sometimes I like someone who can talk a lot," she said.

"Like someone who can speak their mind confidently?"

"Perhaps," said Felicity. "I've got to head back. I fear Mother will be most angry with me if I don't come back for the sewing. I just detest it. 'Tis most boring." She made face.

"I can see that," said Ben.

Felicity nodded again and flashed her spunky and sprightly smile. "Good day, Mr. Davidson," she said, bobbing a curtsy.

"Good day…Miss Felicity," said Ben, as he resumed his work.

Seconds later after Felicity disappeared out of the shop Mr. Merriman emerged briskly from the counting room.

"I kind of overheard your conversation with you and Lissie," said Mr. Merriman. "Still getting acquainted with her?"

"I…I think so," replied Ben.

Mr. Merriman chuckled. "Don't get distracted too much, lad," he said. "You've got a trade to learn."

Ben gulped. "Aye, sir," he replied.

Mr. Merriman slapped his apprentice on the shoulder. "But 'tis good to make friends," he said understandingly. "It gives people a level of humanity in the midst of the mundane world."

* * *

That evening of the same day, Ben was seated on his bed in the stable loft, musing over his thoughts about his hometown, his father, his mother, and his sister. During his period of pensiveness, Felicity emerged from the ladder, which kind of startled Ben.

"I…I didn't expect to see you," he said, looking pretty startled.

Felicity chuckled. "Oh. Did I startle you?" she asked.

"I…I think you did," replied Ben.

"Hmm…" said Felicity. She got herself up to the loft and took her seat on Ben's loft bed on his right side.

"My younger sister told me 'twas rude to stare at you during your first day," said Felicity a little seriously until her mood changed to her usual chatty self. "But I couldn't really help it. You didn't mind, did you?"

Ben shook his head no. Felicity then flashed her sweet smile.

"I think I'll grow to like you, Benjamin Davidson," said Felicity.

"I'm thinking the same, too, Felicity Merriman," said Ben.

Felicity nodded her head a little seriously. "Good night, Ben," she said.

Ben was a little hesitant before he said, "Good night…Lissie."

Smiling warmly again, Felicity climbed down the ladder and headed back to the house, leaving Ben alone with his thoughts. For him it would take time to establish a friendship with the lively girl, as with any of the Merriman family members.

**THE END**

* * *

A/N: The part where Felicity briefly talks about her incident with Mrs. Burnie came from the book _Felicity Discovers a Secret_.

Yup, here we go. Please R&R (Review & Rate). Since not much is talked about Benjamin Davidson's childhood, (especially in the Felicity Mystery Novels written by Elizabeth McDavid Jones), I had to make some stuff up a bit, but more importantly, I attempted to have the events of his childhood logically coincide with the events of the Felicity Series Books. (Much of my inspiration was kind of derived from the new _Star Trek 2009 _movie, especially the parts concerning the birth of James T. Kirk, as well as the part where Christopher Pike encourages Kirk to join Starfleet.) Feedback is always appreciated.


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